


genesis

by annundriel



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 02:33:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2174829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annundriel/pseuds/annundriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They kiss in the privacy of Amy’s home, limbs tangled together on the bed Simon has claimed for himself.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	genesis

They kiss in the privacy of Amy’s home, limbs tangled together on the bed Simon has claimed for himself. It’s late afternoon, and the light coming through the half-curtained windows has a fragile quality to it, brittle and silver. At some point—sooner rather than later—Simon will roll over and turn on the bedside lamp, beat back the encroaching darkness with light. Kieren’s not ready for him to pull away yet. He holds on, one hand at Simon’s waist, fingers catching in the belt loops of his jeans, pressing against the strip of skin that shows where Simon’s jumper has ridden up; his other hand caught between Simon’s head and the pillow beneath it.

Simon’s own hands are, well. It feels like they’re everywhere, like there are more than two of them grounding Kieren there on that bed, in that home, in Roarton. It’s been ages—ages—since Kieren thought there was nowhere else he’d rather be. It’s a relief, realizing he can be happy here. Realizing he can be happy again. That even though Simon plays a role in both, Kieren’s found peace for himself, within himself.

He feels as though a weight has been lifted off of him. And while there are still those who make living—existing—in Roarton hard, they’re easy enough to forget when he’s home, surrounded by family, or here, surrounded by Simon.

Simon’s fingers card through the hair at the back of Kieren’s head, fingernails sharp against the nape of his neck. The pressure makes Kieren shiver and shake, hand tightening at Simon’s waist, and Simon pulls back enough to let a slip of breath between them.

“Okay?”

Kieren nods. He licks his lips, and Simon tracks the movement. They’ve been kissing for what feels like forever, tucked away here. All the time in the world, why not spend some of it like this? Get to know each other slowly, likes and dislikes, preferences. They’ve spoken about art and Rick, about Simon’s mum and dad. It’s never said explicitly, but Kieren can tell Simon’s been running away for a long time, now. He recognizes the signs (he’s known them himself intimately). He’s glad they’re building something neither of them want to run from.

Leaning in, he presses his mouth to the corner of Simon’s. Feels Simon’s breath stutter against him as he slips sideways, fitting their mouths together more fully. He could do this all day, though he’s thought about more. There’s always the prospect of more. It doesn’t loom, though, it’s just there, waiting for them to be ready. Waiting for Kieren to be ready.

Unhooking his fingers from Simon’s belt loops, Kieren slides his hand beneath Simon’s jumper, spreads his fingers against Simon’s ribs, loving the involuntary way they jump beneath his palm. For all that Roarton has quieted down, they haven’t had a lot of time for things like this, the two of them. It’s still so new, the way Simon draws breath as Kieren’s fingers skim his side. The way he presses close to Kieren in doorways and against counters, against the sheets, the breadth of him exhilarating.

He wants Kieren, and he isn’t afraid to show it, unhesitating in the way he reaches for him. Simon only ever pauses when Kieren balks, if something is too much or too fast or too…too…And they talk. They talk and they touch and Kieren doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of the way it makes him feel fearless.

Courage carrying him forward, Kieren tugs at him, pulling Simon with him as he rolls onto his back. Simon comes easily, trusting Kieren in these small moments as he trusts him in the big ones. His weight is reassuring, pressing Kieren into the mattress, pinning him there. Just that much is satisfying, and Kieren groans, happy that he can feel Simon above him. Happy that even if they have to work at it, they can still have this. 

Their feet tangle and the room grows darker and the only things Kieren can hear are their mouths against each other, the rustle of clothes and bedding, the radio Simon has on low—let me, let me, let me get what I want this time—and it’s strange, he thinks, strange still not to hear the rush of blood in his ears, the increasingly frantic beat of his heart as Simon’s hands slip beneath jumper and shirt to find the edge of Kieren’s ribs, the beginning rise of his hip. Stranger still to remember being ticklish, shying from hands on his skin, at his waist, and feel nothing now.

Perhaps that isn’t just the syndrome, though. Maybe that’s just Simon, with his big, steady hands and sure touches. Kieren feels relaxed with him, and wound up. He’s comfortable; he’s about to go mad. Simon is wonderful and infuriating and sweet and terrifying, and Kieren’s almost glad his heart doesn’t beat anymore; he’s not sure he could handle it.

Simon shifts above him, mouth finding the line of Kieren’s jaw and following it down. The feeling is muffled, his senses wrapped in wool, but he can feel it. He thinks he can feel it. He knows where Simon is and when Simon reaches the corner of his jaw, when his nose brushes Kieren’s ear, and Kieren still isn’t sure if that’s simply because he knows he should feel these things, if it’s some sort of…sense memory, though he and Rick didn’t—they never—There were things they did and things they didn’t do, and Kieren will always carry that loss, but Simon is wholly new, wholly his own. Something Kieren never expected.

Kieren’s grip tightens on Simon’s hips and Simon pauses, holding still, the involuntary push and pull of their unnecessary breath the only movement between them. They stay like that for a moment, the seconds hanging between them, the light dimming further, and Kieren straightens his fingers, inches them under the hem of Simon’s jumper to press against the small of his back. His own hands aren’t as steady as Simon’s, but they’re getting there, learning where to press and how hard to push.

This is unsure territory, though. He’s seen Simon shirtless, admired the movement of muscle beneath pale skin before his eyes were drawn to the dark line of Simon’s spine and the quiet explanation about Norfolk that spoke volumes. He’d understood then, had closed the distance between them and pressed his palms to Simon’s shoulders, pressed a kiss to the nape of Simon’s neck. Wished more than anything he could take this harm away, see flesh knit and scars heal over.

They’d been quiet with each other for the rest of that day, steps lighter than usual. Kieren had shivered when Simon’s fingers wrapped around his wrists. He’d kissed and been kissed and known the feeling was mutual.

He touches Simon now, fingers careful but firm. Presses kisses to his hair, his temple, his forehead, anything he can reach until Simon gets the point and rises above him, the corners of his mouth curving upward. It changes his face, that half-hint of happiness. He’s not intimidating or cold or far away; he’s just Simon, with his overlarge jumpers and his restless fingers, his penchant for proselytizing and his ability to surprise Kieren, every time. Kieren looks at the face he’s coming to know so well—in fear and anger, in happiness and delight—and feels something in him respond in kind, his own mouth curving to match. He raises his hand, the one not currently tracing nonsense at the small of Simon’s back, to Simon’s cheek. His fingers slide into Simon’s hair and he urges Simon forward, lifts his head to meet him halfway.


End file.
